


Hi-C, KD, You and Me

by thescrewtapedemos



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, Romantic Comedy, Supernatural Elements, unashamed love letter to gritty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 07:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16113920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescrewtapedemos/pseuds/thescrewtapedemos
Summary: “Well,” TK says reasonably, “if it wanted to eat us it probably would have by now. So there's that.”“I think you really should stop talking now,” Nolan says.





	Hi-C, KD, You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> this is a gritty world and i for one am jazzed beyond belief to be living in it. philadelphia eat your heart out
> 
> thank you to moliver for beta and emotional support
> 
> enjoy xoxo

So the thing is that Nolan is pretty sure that when he went to sleep last night the Flyers hadn’t had a mascot. Which makes it pretty weird that this like… orange mop-looking motherfucker is staring at him with those big, vaguely terrifying eyes and everyone is treating it like it’s basically been there forever. 

Which, Nolan is pretty sure he’d have noticed. 

“‘Sup, Grits,” Coots says vaguely and slaps five with… whatever it is, and then wanders past like having a Hi-C version of the fucking Grimace parked in the corner of the locker room is like, totally chill and cool. 

TK breezes past him and then stops and double-takes so hard it’d be a little bit hilarious in any circumstances other than these. 

“What the shit?” he demands, looking around and then fixing on Nolan. 

“Gritty,” G greets the fucking _thing_ , apparently also not bothered by the fact that a fucking lot of orange fake fur is bordering his stall. 

The thing’s name is apparently… Gritty. And it’s staring at him. He’s one hundred percent sure it’s staring at him. Its eyes quiver a little. Jesus. 

“There’s… There’s a person in there, right?” TK whispers to him, edging closer. 

“I… hope so?” Nolan mumbles out of the side of his mouth. He’s kind of scared to blink. “Was that… did we have a mascot before?” 

“Jesus, fuck no,” TK answers. Nolan hazards a glance at him and then looks quickly back at Gritty. Who’s still staring at him. Directly at him. 

Simmonds plants himself in front of them. His mouth is all twisty like he’s not pleased about something. 

“Staring is fucking rude,” he advises and jerks a thumb in the direction of the stalls. “Get moving.” 

It’s hard to get suited up without ending up staring at Gritty but Nolan kind of manages. It helps that after a while of not being stared at Gritty had stopped staring at him, which is… kind of reassuring. He still doesn’t put his back to it until he’s filling out the door and even then only when Simmer and Ghosty are between him and it.

-/-

TK follows him out of the locker room and to his car, giving Gritty a wide berth and avoiding looking directly at it. Gritty mostly ignores them, anyway. It’s just lurking in the hallway to the zamboni berths, jiggling from foot to foot and watching them pass.

TK hustles to Nolan’s car, though. They both lock the doors as soon as they’re inside. 

“This is fucking weird, right?” Nolan asks in a rush and TK nods in breathless agreement. 

“It’s fucking _weird_ ,” he agrees and reaches over to slap the hand holding Nolan’s keys. “Let’s fucking go, I don’t wanna see if it’s gonna come outside.” 

“Buckle your fucking seat belt,” Nolan bitches, because horrifying mascot suits aside, safety first. 

“Whatever,” TK huffs and slaps Nolan’s thigh this time, hard enough to sting. Nolan has no idea why they’re friends. TK is such a prick. 

“I’m just saying,” Nolan says, starting the car because TK is right. He doesn’t really want to know if Gritty is going to follow them outside. “I don’t remember us having like, a mascot? So it’s weird how-” 

“It’s weird how everyone’s acting like that thing’s been around forever,” TK finishes his sentence and finally buckles his fucking seat belt as they’re pulling onto the street. Nolan turns in the direction of his own apartment, because he is in desperate need of a drink and some non-diet cookies. And maybe some NHL18, he’ll see how that rolls. 

“Can't believe Hextall would greenlight Grimace’s KD-flavored cousin,” TK says because he's constitutionally incapable of shutting the fuck up for five entire seconds at a time. It makes Nolan smile to himself despite how he can't stop checking his rearview mirror just like… in case. 

“I was thinking Hi-C,” he offers. 

“You're a terrible Canadian,” TK tells him but he's grinning and Nolan reaches across the dashboard to punch him in the shoulder in retaliation. 

“This is not what I signed up for,” Nolan tells him and TK shrugs and puts on the radio. It’s playing Hank Williams. As if Nolan needed more reasons to feel vaguely uneasy and kind of unsettled.

-/-

TK has climbed halfway into his fridge by the time he gets his door locked and his bag put away, pulling out a beer apiece and then a packet of toaster pastries Nolan distinctly doesn’t remember buying. He suspects Raffs.

“Fuck yes,” he says anyway, because processed and artificially flavored sugar is processed, artificially flavored sugar. He’s not gonna argue about how it comes to him. TK salutes him with two fingers and goes to put them in the toaster. 

Nolan puts on NHL18. It seems like the thing to do. 

Nolan kicks his ass at it, as he always does. They work their way through two beers apiece doing it, Nolan slumping down and letting the soreness bleed out of him from practice. The toaster pastries help, even if they are cherry-flavored. Fucking Raffl. 

“So,” TK says when he’s done getting thoroughly destroyed and has had the good goddamn grace not to complain too much about it. He’s Nolan’s favorite for a reason. “So, like, Gritty.” 

“Fuck,” Nolan says with feeling. 

“His eyes are front-facing,” TK says after a moment. 

“What?” Nolan asks after a beat because- what?

“Front-facing,” TK says and shrugs like Nolan should know already. Which, why Nolan would know what the fuck that means is beyond him. He’s not like TK, knowing weird shit about weird things, and it’s not like he went to college. He didn’t get a degree in fucked up mascot studies. “Like a predator. For hunting.” 

There’s a protracted moment of silence. 

“TK,” Nolan says at last. “That’s so fucked up, I wish you hadn’t said that.” 

“Well,” TK says reasonably, “if it wanted to eat us it probably would have by now. So there's that.”

“I think you really should stop talking now,” Nolan says, because he’s already kind of dreading practice tomorrow. He can’t stop remembering how like, _big_ Gritty is. Big, but fast. He's gonna have some really fucked up dreams tonight, he can already tell. “It's not like it's real.”

“It’s just a mascot,” TK scoffs. Nolan really wishes he sounded more sure, because Nolan isn’t feeling all that sure of himself either. 

“Yeah,” he says eventually. “Just a mascot.”

-/-

Next practice Gritty is sitting right in his stall.

He stares at it. It stares at him. It's… very big. 

Nolan's pretty big himself, he's always been a tall dude with some bulk to him. It is somewhat unsettling, being around something so much bigger than he is. 

“I, uh,” he says. TK is making big freaked-out eyes at him over Gritty’s shoulder. “Uh, I need to use my stall. Please.” 

Gritty stands up. It's fucking _wild_ how quietly the thing moves. Not very gracefully, it bumbles around a little like a guy in a mascot suit probably would, but there's like no noise to it at all. 

“Thanks,” Nolan says belatedly and edges carefully around Gritty to start pulling his pads down. With Gritty's back to him he makes freaked-out eyes right back at TK.

He also, he discovers, can't find his fucking right glove. Which he kind of needs. And distinctly remembers putting away in its rightful place. 

“Have you guys seen my-," he turns to yell to the rest of the locker room, except Gritty is standing less than a foot away, staring at him. With Nolan's glove in its hands. 

Nolan does not jump. 

“Uh,” he says. 

Gritty lifts the glove in his direction like it's offering it to him. 

Nolan considers being angry, because he fucking hates having his gear messed with. Then he looks at the faintly jittery roll of Gritty's googly eyes and decides that he is really just not in the mood to yell today. 

“Um,” he says and gingerly reaches out to take it. “Thank you?” 

Gritty waddles away. Nolan resolutely does not sigh in relief. 

“Jesus,” TK hisses from at his shoulder and Nolan fully agrees.

-/-

Provy takes a dirty hit from someone Nolan doesn't even see in a game versus the Bruins and the refs call a penalty but it hardly matters when Provy is limping as he comes off the ice. At least it's home ice. The crowd is screaming for Bruin blood instead of cheering.

Provy’s being more or less carried down the tunnel, trainers holding him up every step. Nolan watches him go because- because, fuck, Jesus. 

There’s a flash of orange fur in the tunnel. A big, shadowy shape following Provy and the trainers. Nolan turns back around to face the ice and he doesn’t necessarily have a hard time focusing on the game, he never has, but like… 

Yeah, fuck. He's maybe gonna check in on Provy after the game. Not that he thinks that their mascot is like going to eat him. But, y'know, like a good teammate would.

-/-

Some fucking asshole Islander goon takes Nolan to the boards which he can normally walk off like it's no thing but this time when he goes it's headfirst.

He wakes up when the trainers are scraping him up off the ice and he knows it's bad because his first instinct _isn't_ to shake them off and keep skating. He just… wants to lay back down. Maybe doze. Moving hurts. 

Nolan knows before the trainers get even halfway through the concussion protocol. 

He can’t- he can’t _see_ right, and his gut is rolling tight and sick and unpleasant. He’s pretty sure he’s going to throw up soon, and moving hurts, and looking at things hurts. When the trainers let him close his eyes it’s a little better but not by much. Nothing is tracking right. None of his thoughts line up. 

He’s concussed again. A bad one. Fuck. 

They leave him eventually with strict instructions not to fall asleep, in a blessedly dark silent room. He closes his eyes and curls up as tight as his protesting stomach will let him, which isn’t very, and just… waits. 

The door clicks open. He keeps his eyes shut but there isn’t any glow through his eyelids, and then the door is shutting again. Something shuffles around in the room and then there’s the faint thump of a chair being moved, blessedly quiet. 

A pigeon coos at him. 

He opens his eyes because, even with the concussion, what the _shit?_

Gritty is watching him from a foot away from his face. 

It’s a testament to how shitty and fucked up he feels that he doesn’t even jump. He just blinks slowly, because that hurts least. Gritty’s still there, barely discernible in the dark through his blurry vision except that apparently the fucking thing’s eyes glow in the dark. It’s a gentle glow. It doesn’t bother his eyes at least. 

He’s not scared. He even summons a ghastly little smile. 

Gritty coos at him again. It definitely sounds like a pigeon. It’s… it’s kind of a nice noise, actually. 

“Hi,” Nolan croaks, and then everything is- _rushing_ and he’s going to puke. 

He heaves once and Gritty is somehow across the room and back with the trash can in like, under a second, and Nolan pukes into it exhaustedly. It’s watery with half-digested Gatorade and stingingly sour with stomach bile and his eyes burn with how much everything just. Sucks. 

Gritty is still cooing at him, he notices when he stops throwing up. Sets the can aside, astonishingly gentle for such a big… mascot, suit, monster thing, and coos at him. 

He reaches out, too tired to really care if it’s weird, and gets a hand in its fur. It’s soft and so obviously synthetic to the touch. Except it’s warm, and he can feel the motion of Gritty breathing against his palm. So like, what the fuck. 

Gritty just keeps cooing those gentle pigeon noises at him and he doesn’t fall asleep because he’s not fucking stupid, but he dozes a little and it’s… well, better than his last concussion.

-/-

He gets away with locking everyone out for exactly five days and sixteen hours, which is four days and three hours longer than he would have if there hadn't been an intervening road trip. He has no illusions about TK - or anyone on the fucking team, honestly - respecting his space to brood and sulk.

The morning after everyone is scheduled to come back from the road trip someone lets themself in with the quiet scrape of a key in the lock. Nolan hears it because he's on blackout lock down and he's still at the stage where every noise rattles around in his head like a pinball making a championship leaderboard score. 

“Hey,” TK says to him, barely a breath of a voice. It doesn't really bother Nolan so much except, like, emotionally. He grumbles in TK’s direction without pulling his arm away from where it's shielding his eyes. 

TK doesn't say anything, just walks away towards the kitchen. Nolan dozes through him clinking around in the, quiet enough it doesn't bother him too much. This concussion isn't as bad as the other one had been. It still really fucking sucks. 

“Patty,” TK murmurs and waits for Nolan to grumble another acknowledgment before shoving under his nose a bowl of… Fuck, Nolan has no idea. It smells blessedly bland as fuck.

He pulls his arm cautiously away from his face. It's still dark, thank God, but he can make out the vague shape of TK holding out the bowl. 

It's some kind of completely unseasoned egg whites, avocado, and mixed veggie scramble. He takes it and pokes at it with the fork. 

“Thanks,” he croaks. TK grins at him. His teeth flash in the dim light. 

“Gotta keep your strength up,” he says and then he's insinuating himself onto the couch Nolan's staked out for his own personal sulking area. He does it gently, at least, ending up sandwiched between Nolan's back and the the back of the couch. It's kind of nice, how warm he is. It'd maybe be weird except he can't really think about anything that abstract without risking vomiting all over his carpet, so he doesn't bother giving a shit. 

“Games?” Nolan manages. 

That's the worst part of the concussion, maybe. How isolated he is. No screens, no visitors if they're loud. No real leaving the house for a long while. No idea how his team is doing without him. 

“Lost to the Wings,” TK says and sounds like he'd be shrugging even if he thankfully doesn't. “Beat the Rangers. Doing okay. Missed you.” 

“Miss you,” Nolan says and takes a careful bite of his mushy, bland scramble. It's sitting well in his stomach. He's pretty sure he's going to keep it down. 

“Sap,” TK mocks him affectionately. Warm fingers brush Nolan's hair back from his ear. 

Nolan thinks about trying to tell TK to fuck himself but it seems like a lot of work and thinking so he just lifts a single middle finger and waves it for a second where TK can see. 

TK huffs a little laugh, soundless in his ear. It's quiet for a while after that. Nolan dozes. 

“Gritty's camped out in your stall,” TK says and Nolan thinks he's dreaming for a moment until TK goes on. “Think he misses you or something. He's like… sulking.” 

Nolan grunts. He's most of the way asleep and kind of wants to think about that but mostly wants to sleep off the few bites of scramble he'd managed and the way TK feels keeping him warm and still. 

“You gotta come back,” he hears before he drops off entirely. “We miss you.”

-/-

When he's finally cleared to skate three and a half excruciating weeks later Gritty is absolutely camped out in his stall. It stares at him as he suits up for practice and hands him gear mysteriously missing from the stack it _should_ be in and he reminds himself it's just a mascot.

It keeps staring at him. When he tries smiling at it, it coos at him. 

“S’good to see you making friends, Pats,” G says vaguely, and Nolan doesn't have the slightest idea how to begin to address that so he just doesn't bother.

-/-

Crosby is a fucking asshole, Nolan maintains this, and he’s speaking as someone with a team comprised primarily of assholes and generally unpleasant motherfuckers. Not that a vast majority of the NHL aren’t also assholes. The Flyers are supposed to be, not to be ironic or whatever, gritty.

Crosby is the worst, is his point. Fuck the fucking Penguins. 

He’s not sure how Gritty found its way to the PPG. It hadn’t been on the bus, for sure. Nolan’s pretty sure he’d have noticed that. But he’s there, crouched at the end of the Flyer’s bench watching Crosby skate around and rah the crowd like the gangly ugly asshole he is. Its eyes are fixed on the ice and trembling in place. 

Crosby turns to look at the bench.

Gritty throws itself upright, against the barrier and leaning out like, fuck, like a player about to go over the boards to try and fight someone. Simmond’s is upright too, already halfway over like there’s a damn thing he can do about a fucking mascot twice as big around as him trying to fight Sidney Crosby on the ice. 

And then Gritty _screams_ and Nolan basically shits himself. 

It’s like- like someone blending a pigeon, with overtones of a building collapsing, and Nolan can feel the fucking bench underneath him trembling. He clutches it with both hands and tries not to piss his pants Jesus fucking _Christ_. TK’s hand is abruptly around his arm, tight enough to feel through the pads. 

Crosby stumbles on the ice, a quick one-two motion to keep his balance and then skates away with a scowl. 

“Gritty, chill,” G complains mildly and pats the mascot on the shoulder. “We'll get ‘em.”

Gritty settles back a little. It looks like it’s brooding and it’s still staring at Crosby. Nolan is, he notes absently, shaking like a leaf. TK’s hand around his arm hasn't loosened at all. 

Apparently no one else except TK thinks anything is at all weird. Fucking Christ.

-/-

TK catches him in the hallway of their hotel and Nolan will not admit under pain of torture that he squeaks like something rodent-like when TK yanks him into his room.

He's just been, like, keeping his eye out. That's all. He's a little nervous or whatever. 

“Fucking Christ,” he snaps at TK. TK doesn't bother to respond, just pushes him out of the way to check through the peephole and then throws his arms around Nolan and more or less climbs him. 

“Nolan,” he chants and Nolan bows to TK’s body weight and force of personality. “Nolan, oh my god, that was so fucked up, that was so fucking fucked up?” 

“Yeah,” Nolan says uselessly and gets an arm under TK’s thigh so he's at least braced a little. It leaves them all tangled up but whatever. 

“That is not a fucking mascot,” TK says breathlessly. “There is no fucking way.”

“You're right,” Nolan mumbles against his shoulder. He's all bent over to get there but TK smells like locker room soap and some kind of undefinable cheap antiperspirant that just- is very soothing, whatever. 

“That was so fucked up and no one even noticed,” TK says. He's clutching the back of Nolan's shirt with both hands. “That was like, Patty, listen, that was _so fucked up_.” 

Nolan nods. 

“...But did you see Crosby nearly eat it,” he says at last. 

“Oh my fucking god,” TK says immediately. “Oh my god if I wasn't about to shit my pants I would have probably about pissed myself laughing. His _face_.” 

“It was choice,” Nolan agrees and grins against TK’s shirt. 

“I'm glad he's like, on our side,” TK says. He hasn't let go of Nolan's shirt. “If fucking Iceburgh or some shit tries to come at us, I'm betting on Gritty.”

-/-

He goes looking for TK because they have an hour and a half to game time and that's plenty of time but TK should be-

He should be with Nolan. That's all. They have a _routine_.

No one's any help until he stops a passing janitor and apologizes twenty times, and then he's just shiftily directed to a supply closet on the concession floor Nolan isn't sure is real up until he's standing in front of it. 

There's a smear of mustard on the door handle. He gingerly opens it. 

TK looks up at him guilty. 

Gritty doesn’t look up at all from the hotdog in its big hand. The hot dog is dwarfed in its grip.It’s nibbling on it, _somehow_. Nolan isn’t totally sure where Gritty’s mouth is and isn’t gonna look too closely to find out. 

“Gritty was hungry,” TK says defensively before Nolan can even say anything. 

“...kay,” Nolan says after a moment. TK squints at him ferociously. His hands are on his hips despite how he's sitting down. It’s a little bit cute. 

“Well,” TK huffs at last. “So. It’s too crowded out there, Gritty couldn’t get to the hot dog stand. So I got him some.” 

“The hot dog stand,” Nolan repeats. 

“It’s what he eats!” TK exclaims. He sounds very defensive. Gritty coos and a hot dog bun lands at Nolan’s feet. There’s mustard smeared on it. There are, Nolan notices, more than a few buns piled up around Gritty and TK. 

“Huh,” he says. “I… huh.” 

Gritty coos at him. TK pats its shoulder and hands over another hot dog. 

“We’re almost out if you wanna grab a few more,” TK says to Nolan. Nolan blinks at them, at Gritty somehow dexterously eating the hot dog out of the bun without getting mustard and ketchup all over its face, at TK crouched comfortably next to him with a little pile of cheap hot dogs in a paper boat at his feet. 

“I could use a snack I guess,” he decides at last and goes to buy a few hot dogs.

-/-

He slaps five with Gritty and edges past him to his stall.

“Scream at Crosby for me, eh?” he asks cheerfully. Gritty’s eyes jitter at him which might be agreement and might not be. Nolan hasn't fully worked out how much human speech Gritty understands or, like, cares about. 

“Nolan,” G chastises. Nolan grins but ducks to get his socks rolled up and taped properly. He knows Gritty is listening… more or less. 

“If you feel like it, though,” G says at last, to Gritty. “His face is fucking hilarious.”

-/-

They smash the Pens and Gritty screams at Crosby every time he gets on the ice and Nolan gets sent to the penalty box for some shit he shouldn't have been, but they pull it out and he's happy. TK corners him in the hallway to the zamboni berth and stares at him for way too long and then drags him into the zamboni room.

“Hey,” Nolan says mildly, and then TK kisses him and Nolan forgets what he was going to complain about entirely. 

TK pulls away at last and stares at him. 

“I,” Nolan says and touches his mouth stupidly. “What?” 

“You know,” TK says and shrugs. “I wanted to.” 

“Oh,” Nolan says. 

“Yeah,” TK says. He looks insultingly nonchalant. 

Nolan thinks for a second. It’s alarmingly hard. He keeps getting distracted by how he can still kind of feel how TK’s mouth had felt against his, soft and a little chapped. His stomach keeps flipping over. He's probably bright red. 

“Why?” he asks eventually. TK squints at him. 

“Are you asking why I kissed you?” he asks incredulously and Nolan didn’t think it was _such_ a stupid question, thank you. He scowls. 

“Yeah, well,” he mutters. “And why now, and… Whatever, you’re such a dick.” 

TK rolls his eyes at him and somehow has a hand in his hair, pulling him down to his level. Nolan is kind of impressed with the smoothness of it and kind of not thinking totally straight what with TK pressed up against him from knee to chest. 

“Weirder things have happened recently,” TK says, and shrugs. “Mascots from the Black Lagoon and whatever. I figured I might as well try.”

Nolan should possibly be offended except then TK is kissing him again and he’s a little too busy grabbing TK’s hips and holding on tight. He'll argue about it later. There's kissing to do now.


End file.
